


Rapunzel Summer

by distractionpie



Series: JeanMarco Revival 2019 [5]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: "Bad boy" Jean Kirschtien, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, New in Town, boy next door
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 08:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21223625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distractionpie/pseuds/distractionpie
Summary: When Marco's family moves to Trost at the start of the summer break, he braces for eight weeks of isolation and boredom.Then he discovers the view from his window.





	Rapunzel Summer

Trost is the most crowded place Marco has ever been.

He suspects that makes him some kind of hick, since Trost is at most a medium-sized town that could fit several times over in a real city like Sina, but he's used to living on a farm and looking out of his window onto rolling fields. Even in Jinae village proper there were few places to go where at least part of the view wasn't green.

His new bedroom window looks out onto a wall. Well, a wall and a matching window, but the blinds are always down - probably because the occupant of the room behind recognises the design flaw of having windows facing into houses.

The homesickness will go away. He knows that. And he accepts the fact that there just isn't enough money to be made running a small family farm anymore, he's watched over the years as friends and neighbours got bought out around them, he just wishes they could have held out a month or two longer so he wasn't facing down the long drag of a summer vacation in a town where the only people he knows are his siblings.

He loves them, but they spent nearly two days crammed in a car together to get here. The last thing he wants is to hang out with them more.

Which means, despite the crows of the town, he’s spending most of his time alone.

He’s not used to that.

And he’s not used to spending all his time indoors either. At home, in Jinae, he was free to spend his time roaming the countryside with his friends but he doesn’t know where to go in Trost: there no fields or forests to explore, just houses as far as the eye can see. And he knows his mother would worry about him, exploring a strange town all alone.

So he whiles away the hours in his room, sometimes reading, sometimes texting people back home (but most of his old friends are too busy enjoying their summer together to have much time to spare to keep Marco entertained) and occasionally staring at the non-existent view out of his window.

That’s what he’s doing, a week and a half after moving in, when the blind opens for the first time.

It moves in quick, jerky leaps, like either the chain is busted or the person operating it is doing so carelessly, and Marco is so surprised to find himself looking at anything other than blankness that he forgets to moves or turn away, so when the blind opens he’s staring into the face of a boy about his age, who looks momentarily shocked and then scowls.

Marco is no lip reader, but he's pretty certain that boy next door just said 'who the fuck are you?'.

He flushes, it’s not like he was trying to peek into his neighbours room, he hadn’t even thought about the blind opening and his last window faced out onto a field full of cows, so it wasn’t like he was used to having to think about the feeling of view.

He supposes he owes an apology, or at least an explanation, so he opens his window, bringing down the barrier between them on his side.

“Hi,” he calls out.

The boy next door pulls a face, but a moment later he’s yanking his window open.

And repeating his question.

“I’m Marco,” he says.

“What are you doing there?” the boy demands. “You’re not one of Mrs. Galloway’s cats.”

That statement, Marco feels, is kind of obvious. “Who are you?”

“I asked first. Trost is tiny, there's only one high school, so unless you're a lot older or younger than you look I should know you.”

"Is it that hard to believe that you simply haven't noticed me before?" Marco says. He's already been on the Trost High Web page and the size of the student body had been intimidating compared to his truly tiny one homeroom per grade school back in Jinae. He can't imagine it's possible to know that many people well enough to be sure no one is forgotten or mixed up.

The boy looks Marco up and down, then wrinkles his nose. "You?" he says, "No chance."

"I just moved here," Marco admits, though what he really wants is to ask what about him makes the boy so sure he'd know Marco.

“Huh, that sucks.”

Marco swallows. Yikes. He could understand the guy being annoyed at no longer being able to open his blind without losing his privacy, but he hadn’t expected

“I didn’t mean to stare,” he explains. “It won’t happen again. I just haven’t seen your blind open since we moved here, so I didn’t really think about it being rude.”

“Huh? Oh, no, I, for you I mean,” the boy blurts out, then puts on a strange voice, like he’s trying to imitate an announcer. “Welcome to the most boring town in Rose County. I’m Jean, and the attractions I can recommend to you are nothing, nothing, and, our grand finale, the world famous nothing.”

Marco laughs, mostly in surprise. It’s not exactly reassuring to hear a resident speak so badly on the place, though he’s not sure how much stock to put in Jean’s opinion given he’s claiming there’s nothing here when it’s the biggest place Marco has ever been apart from one school field-trip to Mithras.

“There must be something to do here,” he says. “Where do you go when you aren’t in school?”

Jean lets out a bitter laugh. “Nowhere. I’m grounded.”

“Oh.” Well, there goes Marco’s hopes of having somebody to show him around town. “Until when?”

“The end of the summer.” Jean screws his face up. “Or possibly until I’m thirty.”

“Woah. What did you do?” Marco asks. Unless Jean’s mom is incredibly strict, it must have been something serious for his confinement to last all summer. The longest he’s ever been grounded for is a weekend, and his folks hadn’t even enforced that very rigidly.

“What aren’t I grounded for?” Jean huffs.

Marco frowns. How should he know? It’s hard to imagine anything that would get somebody grounded for that long that isn’t awful, and, though he’s only been talking to Jean a few minutes, he can’t believe that he’s the type of person who would do anything truly bad. “Well, what’s the main thing?”

“Uh… well I guess it started with me skipping class to fight Eren, this absolute douchebag you’ll probably have to suffer through sharing classes with,” Jean says, with a roll of his eyes.

“I’ve never been in a fight,” Marco admits, wondering what on earth could have provoked Jean to such drastic action. “What did he do to make you fight him?”

“He’s Eren. You’ll get it when you meet him. Or maybe you won’t, I don’t know, you seem like the type who could put up with even his bullshit.” Jean shrugs. “And, y’know, I was kind of stressed about exams,” he says. “And Eren was in a mood about going to stay with his control freak dad over the summer. What do adults expect will happen there’s fuck all else to do around here?”

Marco stares. Boredom and generalised bad temper seems like terrible reasons to fight. He’s been bored since moving here, but it has never occurred to him to resolve it by finding somebody to brawl. But Jean says it so casually.

“Anyway, the school tried to throw in a bunch of bullshit about bullying, but Eren was totally down to fight and he said as much so I don’t know why they were so stuck on that angle.”

“Oh!” If the other boy was in agreement then perhaps Jean is just talking about play-fighting. “So you’re in trouble for causing a disturbance really?”

“Yeah, that’s one way of putting it. Anyway, my mother is used to that, it was the hospital visit that really pissed her off.”

“Your fighting put you in hospital?” Marco asks, instantly revising his judgement about the severity of the incident, and surprised by his own concern. Especially when for all he knows what Jean means is that he put the other guy in hospital. He doesn’t seem like a dangerous thug, he’s got the look—dark clothes and an unevenly bleach-blond undercut that has the distinct look of an at-home attempt in the name of teenage rebellion—but he’s also hanging out of his window to chat to Marco which seems too friendly for a real trouble-maker but maybe things are different in big towns.

“No, when me and Eren were in detention together we found some pins and Eren dared me to pierce my ear with one, I would have gotten away with hiding it under my hair but it got sort of infected…” Jean trailed off with a grimace as Marco gaped at him. “It’s not fallen off or anything!” he adds, turning his head so that Marco can see a perfectly normal looking ear. “The clinic just cleaned it up and gave me some antibiotics. Apparently it’s pretty normal with piercings and tattoos that aren’t done by professionals.”

It still sounds nasty to Marco, but Jean’s ear looks fine and he doesn’t seem upset by any of it, so maybe this is just what life outside of the countryside is like.

His parents call him to dinner shortly afterwards, but the next day, when Marco opens his curtains Jean’s blinds are already up, and the boy is sitting on the window ledge, scribbling in a notebook which he abandons the moment Marco calls out a polite, “Morning Jean.”

Three days later, when Jean has been waiting every time he’s opened the window, Marco starts to get the sense that he might be the blond’s only escape from the boredom of his grounding.

Which is handy, since talking to Jean is Marco’s only relief from the boredom and isolation of being new to Trost.

It becomes a habit and Marco quickly falls into a routine. Jean is always at the window in the mornings, often bleary eyed and reliant on Marco to keep up the conversation, but this is the best time to speak to him as Jean’s mother works a late night/early morning shift and so there’s no risk of her hearing Jean talk and realising the loophole he’s found in his grounding. Mid-morning Jean will vanish, always a few moments before his mother’s bus is due to arrive, and Marco will spend the day with his family, insisting the whole time that the move has given him a sudden interest in sleeping in and that’s why he hasn’t joined them for breakfast.

The afternoons are always family time as Jean’s claims his mother is a light sleeper but sometimes he gets a second opening to talk to Jean in the evenings if Jean’s mom goes out early instead of spending time with her son until it’s time to leave for work.

But it’s a good routine and despite his strange first impression Marco quickly decides he’s glad he’s met Jean and though perhaps it’s just because his grounding has left him with no other company or entertainment that makes Jean want to spend so much time with Marco, Marco can’t help hoping that Jean considers them friends.

Which is why he’s so annoyed by the restrictions Jean’s grounding places on their communication, like tonight when it's late and on a hot night like this people will have their windows open, it's bound to disturb somebody if he calls out.

But Jean's window is wide open too.

He goes to his desk, pulling out a sheet of paper from his printer and scribbling his phone number on it before folding carefully.

A moment later, he’s carrying a plane to his window.

The flimsy paper craft soars across the gap, only diverting slightly as it passes a vent, sailing cleanly through Jean's window. Jinae's high school hadn't been big enough to have any proper sports teams that could use somebody with accurate throwing skills but maybe this is a talent he can put to use in Trost, then Jean's face appears at the window, washed out by the moonlight. His brow is furrowed but even at this distance Marco can see his lips twitching like he's fighting to hold back a different expression as he picks up the plane and unfolds it.

Marco watches as he squints at the page, lips forming the shapes of the numbers, but then he shakes his head, walking away from the window.

Marco’s stomach drops. He’d assumed they were close enough that exchanging numbers would be a simple thing, but maybe Jean doesn’t want to give Marco something as permanent as his phone number. Maybe Jean prefers the fact he can shut his window on Marco any time he likes and doesn’t want to give Marco the power to text him whenever he pleases.

But a moment later the airplane is flying through his own window, almost clipping the frame and somewhat crumpled from its undoing and refolding. Marco grabs it, tugging it apart, sure Jean wouldn’t have thrown it back just to reinforce the rejection.

Sure enough, there are new words written inside.

_‘Phone confiscated :(’_

Well damn.

Jean’s mom is clearly serious about this grounding.

He considers writing another message and throwing the plane back, but Jean has disappeared from the window not waiting for a response and honestly, it’s hardly the most effective way to communicate.

But the disappointment of that flash of inspiration that had come to nothing is still with Marco days later that he’s helping his mom sort out the boxes from their attic in Jinae, which they’d brought with them without unpacking but which contain a lot of stuff that really ought to be thrown out.

Like, his mom says, the pair of walkie-talkies that Marco’s sisters had used when they were little and going through a secret agent phase.

The pair of walkie-talkies that he rescues from the trash and finds fresh batteries for.

“This is great,” Jean says, when Marco throws one half of the set through his window. “We can use them whenever my mom is out or asleep and since we won’t have to shout at the windows, there’s less risk of us being overheard or seen by somebody who could rat us out. Uh… over.”

“I don’t think you really have to say over,” Marco laughs. “It’s not like we’re using a busy frequency or I can’t figure out if you’re done talking.”

“Oh, right.”

This is the first time he’s talked to Jean anything other than face to face through the windows, but the image that flashes into Marco’s mind of the blush that must be spreading up Jean’s face because he’s so easily flustered for such a cool guy is startlingly vivid. Marco hadn’t realised Jean had made such a strong impression on him but as he leans back against the pillows, he finds himself wondering what else he could say to provoke a reaction from Jean.

But though the radios give them extra hours, it’s not enough.

They talk almost every day, but there’s only so much you can get to know a person without sharing experiences, and Marco quickly wants more. He wants to see how Jean reacts when watching his favourite movies, to go run around the park and find out if he really is as good an athlete as he claims to be, to sit next to him on a couch and feel a solid presence by his side not just a face at the window and a voice over the radio that takes the edge of Marco’s loneliness but could never chase it away like physical company could.

Plus, Marco has been raised on the country philosophy that there’s nothing so good for a person as fresh air and the thought of Jean cooped up in his room all day, like Rapunzel but with his undercut depriving him of even fantasies of escape via hair, seems miserable — and unlikely to help with the stress and boredom that he’d claimed caused the events leading up to his grounding.

He suspects Jean’s mom won’t make an exception the grounding just to let him go out with a new friend, but Marco knows his parents have talked to Jean's mom, it's perfectly plausible for him to know of Jean third-hand without ever mentioning their talks at the window.

Which is why he’s standing on Jean’s front step, eyeing himself in the glass panel of the door as he waits for an answer to his knock.

The reflection staring back at him is a little overdressed for summer vacation, a polo shirt and khaki shorts with his hair brushed into a picture-day severe part that he’ll have to muss later because he doesn't want to look like a dork, especially beside Jean with his punk haircut, but he does want to make a good impression on Jean's mom.

Who has just opened the door.

"Good morning, ma'am," he begins. Jean's father has been pointedly unmentioned through everything Jean has said about his life so Marco doesn’t want to gamble on guessing if she goes by ‘Mrs’ or ‘Ms’ Kirschtien, plus a little extra politeness rarely went amiss, especially when dealing with moms.

“Hello,” she replies, though she’s looking at him strangely.

Already starting to doubt himself, Marco begins, “I wanted to ask—”

“You should know, I don’t buy from doorstep sellers,” Jean’s mom interrupts. “And we’re really not interested in converting.”

Oh god. Does he look like a Wallist missionary? That is so not the impression he wants to make while hanging out with Jean in person for the first time. But is still better than not getting to hang out with Jean at all.

“No, I’m Marco, I live next door!” he says. “You know my parents.”

“Oh, right, of course dear,” she says. “Ah, I see the resemblance now I come to think of it. Does your mother want to borrow the dehumidifier after all? I know how these old houses get, especially when they’ve been sitting empty for a while.”

"Ah, no. This is a personal request actually. My mother mentioned something about you having a son around my age," he explains. "But I haven't seen him around." He consoles himself with the knowledge its not technically a lie, he hasn't seen Jean around, only through their respective bedroom windows.

Jean’s mom frowns. “Yes. I don’t like to let him just roam the street. I know you young people are all about the ‘hanging out’, but I worry about the trouble he might get into.”

"Oh," Marco lets the disappointment he felt the first time Jean declined his invitation to hang out show. Strange though, that she hadn’t said grounded. Maybe she just doesn’t want to admit in front of a neighbour that her son gets in fights, but since she’s claiming her concern is Jean’s lack of structured activity, Marco can turn this to his advantage. "It's just that I was hoping, well, I don't know anybody my age here. It would be nice to start school knowing at least one person.”

He can see her expression softening as he talks and at the word school there’s a flicker of concern in her eyes that has him pressing his advantage.

“So I’d hoped if I met Jean then at least I’d have somebody to help me find my way,” Marco elaborates. “And maybe find out if we were taking any of the same classes because I've been looking at my textbooks and this school district runs on a different programme to Jinae and I could use a study partner to help me get caught up before term starts."

The differences aren’t so dramatic, he’s ahead in as many areas as he’d behind and he could figure out the stuff he needs to catch up on with google, but there’s a unique parental appeal to the implication of a study group.

Sure enough, Jean’s mother sighs. “It’s terrible really, that the schools can’t organise to avoid putting hard-working kids like you in this position. I’m not sure how much use Jean will be, but I’ll certainly get him to speak with you, hang on.”

Marco waits in the doorway as she disappears upstairs, counting seconds and then minutes in his head, wondering why it’s taking so long to Jean’s mom to convey Marco’s simple request, what caveats she might be adding.

Then he hears the thundering of footsteps and sees Jean’s mother returned, followed by a heel dragging Jean.

It’s a fight not to let his excitement show in his face, Jean’s mom would surely be suspicious if Marco showed too much enthusiasm at the prospect of talking about school with her reluctant son.

Then Jean comes into view, and Marco doesn’t have to fake looking worried anymore.

His face is set in a firm scowl and Marco wonders if he misjudged the situation. Jean had seemed desperate to get out of his room but maybe Marco should have run the plan by him instead of just going for it. He might have been perfectly happy to stay in his room given this is the best alternative Marco can come up with.

Or, Marco comforts himself, perhaps his expression has nothing to do with Marco and everything to do with the warnings his mother is impressing upon him — Marco having guessed right that Jean’s freedom would not come without cautions.

“—and be back for supper,” she orders finally, nudging Jean towards him.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Jean mutters, with a roll of his eyes like he’s parodying every moody teenager stereotype. He slams the door behind him as steps outside, and the crash, combined with Jean’s scowling attitude, makes Marco jump and tense.

They walk down the driveway in silence, Jean scuffing his shoes against the pavement and Marco feels apprehensive. His own home would be a logical place to study, but the whole point of this plan was to get Jean somewhere interesting, not just the inside of a different house built off the same plan, and he did say to Jean’s mom that he wanted showing around town.

He’s hoping walking away from their homes, towards something more interesting, will cheer Jean up but he’s still scowling and with every step Marco wonders if he’s made a huge mistake. He’s been daydreaming about getting to spend time with Jean for days, but now it’s actually happening it’s clear he was being overly optimistic. Of course Jean wouldn’t want to hang out with Marco once he got out of the house, he’s probably going to ditch Marco and find somebody cooler to spend his time with just as soon as they’re far enough away that his mother can’t watch from the windows.

And sure enough, when they turn the corner at the end of the street, everything changes. Jean lunges towards him and for a moment all Marco can think about are Jean’s stories of fighting, seemingly at the drop of a hat. But after the first moment of impact, he realises that Jean isn’t pushing or hitting him, just squeezing.

“Oh my god, helping you learn the neighbourhood!” Jean half shouts into his ear. “That’s genius. Marco, why didn’t you tell me you were wicked smart?”

“I… what?”

“School work! Of course she’d let me out for school work. I didn’t even think about that,” Jean explains, releasing Marco from the sudden hug. “And the request coming from a nice-looking guy like you, with all that good influence potential… well I don’t think I’ve seen her look so hopeful in years.”

“Oh, that… it seemed like the best way to make her see it as a good thing,” Marco explains. “That’s not a problem, right? You seemed so pissed off when we left the house.”

"Well, yeah," Jean beams. "If I'd looked excited within viewing distance of the house she'd have known something was up."

“And you’re okay with being made to play tour guide for the new kid in town?” Because Jean will have to give Marco some help, or their story won’t be believable.

“Okay?! Marco, you’re my hero,” Jean says. “Speaking of…”

He ducks back into Marco’s space, and there isn’t even a hint of violence in his approach this time as his mouth brushes against the delicate edge between Marco’s lips and cheek in a flash of a kiss that sends a shiver through Marco and leaves him gaping as Jean settles back on his heels with a sly smile.

“You… I… oh,” he stammers. “Jean?”

“That’s what heroes get, right?” Jean says. “In all the stories and movies, I mean. A kiss from the person they saved. Well, I hadn’t even realised I had hope for a rescue, so thanks.”

“You didn’t have to,” Marco says quickly. He’d hoped pulling this off would cement his friendship with Jean, but his assistance wasn’t conditional on Jean offering that, let alone anything more.

"Maybe I wanted to," Jean replies, biting his lip, “For my hero.”

Marco’s stomach flips, filled with warmth and a strange excitement at the thought of being that for Jean, but, “It’s no big deal, it shouldn’t be that hard to convince your mom to let you out with me again either. I told her I was hoping you’d catch me up on what I needed to know for school, and I’m sure we’ll have enough classes in common for that to last the rest of the summer.”

Jean smirks. “Looking to get another reward?”

Heat rushes to Marco’s face. “Jean! I…” His urge to hang out with Jean is selfish, and even if Marco didn’t crave his company he’d help Jean out for nothing because they’re friends, but Jean must know Marco expects nothing from him. But the thought of Jean doing that again, and of maybe turning his head a little so that their lips meet rather than Jean’s kiss being just a tease at the edges, makes Marco bold. “Maybe,” he finishes, defiantly, though he’s sure his blush is giving away that he’s not reacting as suavely as he’d like to. “I mean, your aim could use some work.”

“So we both have things to study up on over the summer,” Jean pronounces. “Guess it’s a good thing we can practice together.”


End file.
